


Caim

by wildewinged



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildewinged/pseuds/wildewinged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the fae kingdom, Dean is a simple carpenter, living with his family a fair distance from the palace. That distance isn’t far enough to keep palace problems away, as a power struggle that jeopardizes the kingdom pulls in first his brother Sam, and then Dean by proxy. </p>
<p>Castiel, a palace guard, is intent on doing his duty to the kingdom when he meets Dean. Together, they must find a way to balance the forces vying for power - but first they must find their way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Dean/Cas Big Bang 2013.](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/)  
> [Art Masterpost](http://krioboly.livejournal.com/2470.html)
> 
> My most sincere thanks and adoration go out to my amazing artist, [krioboly](http://krioboly.tumblr.com/), who managed to capture what I was envisioning perfectly. Thank you so much, darling! ♥
> 
> I also need to thank my wonderful beta and cheerleader, [Holly,](http://commandgolds.tumblr.com/) without whom this fic would be switching tenses every other paragraph, and whose enthusiastic support was all that made me open the damn doc and write some days.

_The Palace_

Lucifer stormed out of the room in a flurry of gold cloth and white feathers, wings snapping wide behind him. Michael followed with little more composure, jaw tight and visibly ruffled. 

"What in the Father's name are you thinking, Michael?" Lucifer cried, spinning abruptly to face his brother. "After all we've built -"

"Yes, brother, after all we've built, and all on the backs of our people, our kin! They're just like us, I see that now, and they deserve better than we've done, how we've used them!"

Lucifer scoffed. "Right, you 'see that now.' Revelation just came from above, and now you see." 

"Yes, I do," Michael said, straightening. "Our Father is right, Lucifer. He always is, and always will be, and so we must obey." Reaching out a firm hand, he smoothed down the ruffled feathers on the forward edge of Lucifer's wing, gripping his shoulder until Lucifer met his eyes. "Please, brother. We can do this together; bring about this new age of cooperation and creation, all our people working as one. Just help me." 

Eyes narrowed, it took Lucifer a few seconds to calm his rough breathing. Slowly, he began to nod. "All right, brother," he said. "All right. We'll see what happens." He watched the stiff lines of Michael's broad brown wings relax as he broke into a warm smile. 

"Thank you," Michael said. "I know this is right. You'll see." After an affectionate pat to Lucifer's shoulder, he turned back to his rooms, no doubt to prepare for his grand new age. Lucifer waited until the heavy oaken door thudded shut behind him before he strode down the hallway, boot heels striking the stones in a sharp rhythm. 

He reached the wing of the palace where most of his guards resided, rapping sharply on doors as he passed by without pausing. Reaching the door to his study, he moved behind his desk, leaning heavily on both hands. He kept his head down, waiting, until he heard the others assembling in front of him. He met each of their eyes when he looked up. Meg looked curious but tried to hide it, the restless tap of her fingers on her leg giving her away; Azazel calculating, probably already close to puzzling out why he's called them; Ruby watching with barely disguised interest and excitement. 

Staying standing, Lucifer began. "I believe you may already have an idea why I've called you, my trusted few, my favorites. It's begun." Ignoring Ruby's sharp intake of breath, Azazel's quickly aborted step forward, he continued, voice soft. "He believes that the latest signs from the Father mean that we should collaborate with the commoners, give up our power. He forgets that we were given dominion over them for a reason." 

He watched the group carefully for any signs of disagreement. Thankfully, none showed. Meg and Azazel nodded slowly, and Ruby asked, "What would you like us to do?" 

Lucifer smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

_The Winchester Home_

Light breaking across his pillow - and, therefore, his face - woke Dean. He stretched with a sleepy groan, toes catching in the heavy quilt laid over him. Registering the weight, not present when he'd gone to bed, he smiled softly; even now that he's grown his mom can't help but tuck him in. He can hear her soft singing carrying from another part of the house. 

Rolling out of bed, he padded barefoot to the window. The soft morning light still hadn’t burned away the dew sparkling on the grass. His father is out already, carefully splitting wood for the table they're making today. At Mary's call of "John, breakfast!" he rested the axe against a log, wiping his brow and turning with a smile. Before he took more than a few steps, a second call of "You know you have to wash up first!" made him detour to the pump with a chuckle. Dean smiled down at the familiar scene before grabbing a shirt and tugging it over his head. 

Exiting his room, he banged a fist against the thick wood of Sam's door. "C'mon, lazybones, it's breakfast!" he called in a cheery voice. Odd that Dean would be up first; normally Sam would've been up and about by now. Dean shrugged after getting no response, bare feet thudding down the stairs as he made his way to the kitchen. 

"Hi, mom," he said, coming up behind her and planting a kiss on her cheek. She laughed before shooing him over to sit at the table. 

"Good morning, Dean," Mary said, adding with a wry smile, "It's nice to see you up before noon." 

"Hey, I beat Sammy, didn't I?" 

Mary laughed again, bright and warm as the light through the kitchen windows. "Actually, no. He was up before dawn; went out to find me those night-blooming flowers I needed for Bobby's poultice." 

"Before dawn?" Dean asked, suddenly concerned. "Just how far did he have to go?" 

"Hush, Dean. He's not in any danger. Why don't you help me get those rolls out of the oven?" 

Dean nodded, moving on autopilot as he snagged an oven mitt and grabbed the rolls, gently depositing the fluffy pastries on the pottery Mary had put out. He knew he shouldn't worry so much. Sam's a big boy, but Dean couldn’t help but remember the days when little Sammy got himself into trouble with his wandering and exploring. He resolved to put it out of his mind. He could worry if Sam didn’t make it home in time for breakfast. If he knew anything, it's that his little brother can eat. 

John made it into the kitchen in time to help with the eggs, spooning a portion for everyone as Mary removed her apron and sat. For a moment they all eyed Sam's plate, full and steaming but ownerless. Only for a moment, and then John thanked the Father and Mother Earth for their food and they began eating.

Keeping up as best he could with the conversation – Bobby's legs giving him trouble again, Missouri's cousins coming to visit – Dean couldn’t help but glance at the window. The pathway leading from the forest stayed empty of Sam or anyone else. As soon as he finished breakfast he announced, "Going to see where Sam's gotten to." 

Mary let out a sigh of relief, John nodding. John gathered the dishes, bringing them to the sink as Mary bundled together some leftover rolls and a couple of apples from the bowl on the table. "For Sam," she explained, handing them to Dean. "He'll be hungry when you find him, no doubt." Dean nodded, smiling tightly as he tugged on his boots and slung the satchel over his shoulder. 

"I'll be back fast as I can, Dad," he said apologetically. He knew John wanted him to help with the table, the long planks they use hard to manage without assistance. John shook his head and smiled. 

"You just go on and find your brother, I can handle the work," he said, clapping Dean on the back as he went past him and out the door. Dean gave Mary a tight hug goodbye, breathing in her ever-present perfume of herbs, before following. He veered left where John went right, following the slight wear in the grass that turned into the forest’s narrow path. 

Boots making hushing sounds in the dewy grass, Dean began to trek into the woods. The dappled light through the trees turned golden as the sun rose higher in the sky. He watched for any signs of Sam, cursing how he'd gotten so much better at hiding his tracks in the past few years. The path was as clear as if no one had passed there in days, leaf litter and twigs strewn where they'd fallen. 

Realizing he'd never find Sam this way, Dean sighed and veered off the path. Finding a sheltered spot under a pine that wasn't too damp with the morning's dew, he knelt on the ground, fingers digging into the loose soil.

He needed to anchor himself in the earth this way for the shift to work. Maybe other fae were powerful enough to manage without an anchor, but he knew he sure as hell wasn’t. Feeling the damp clods in his hands, the dark-warm-earth scent of it in his nose, Dean let his mind center and focus. It was with the fresh-growth-change of spring in mind that he let bone and sinew shift, senses expanding and perspective shifting. Steadied by the familiar earth of home, it was simple and natural to shift forms. 

Now a bobcat, sturdy on four legs, he trotted off. The forest became a veritable buffet of smells and sounds now, most notably Sam's familiar scent zigzagging through the trees. Dean let out an exasperated huff before following, Mary's satchel bouncing against his side. 

Sam's path was lackadaisical and rambling. Dean found a few places he'd clearly paused to look at something - a patch of bright flowers, a fallen feather from a jay. He would be able to appreciate the sights more if he hadn't been trekking for at least half an hour now with no sign of his brother. He was only glad he hadn't seen signs of a struggle either. 

He had heard the stories circulating recently. Young fae, most often wandering alone, vanishing without a trace. No one they'd known, no one from their village, but worrying nonetheless. Dean knew who his parents thought was responsible, as well – he’d overheard them talking in hushed voices when he'd slipped down the stairs one night, restless. He'd heard the whispers of "palace guards" and "the royalty" right alongside "those poor missing fae", and he could connect the dots just fine. 

Baring long fangs, he hissed. If anyone, royalty or not, had laid a hand on his little brother, there'd be hell to pay. 

Dean lengthened his stride, stretching his four legs to a loping run as Sam's trail straightened out, easy to follow. The cadence of paws on earth slowed his mind, letting him focus on the springs and twists fallen branches and stones demand. Barreling round a natural curve in the path, Dean slammed headfirst into something very solid. Make that _someone_ very solid, with very bony shins. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Dean looked up with the bobcat approximation of a grin. 

Sam looked back down at him, smiling in his boyish way. "Hey, Dean," he said easily. He'd recognize Dean anywhere, let alone in a form he's this partial to. "What's the hurry?"

Dean growled lightly in response, butting his head against Sam's calf. Sam knew why he was out here. It wasn’t rare for Sam to go wandering in the mornings, but it wasn’t like him to be this late. He had to know he'd worried them. 

Sam's face softened, and he stooped down to Dean's level – a considerable distance to stoop after his latest growth spurt. "I get it, I'm late," he said. "Sorry you worried." 

Dean huffed and flicked his ears, downplaying his concern. Turning, he began trotting back the way he came. Not hearing footsteps behind him, he peered over his shoulder. 

Sam stood where Dean had left him, rubbing the back of one hand with the thumb of the other. “Could you shift back?” he asked. “I’d like to show you something, and it’d be nice if you could talk.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like Sam’s nondisclosure of what exactly he wanted to show him, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t curious. He dipped his head in a nod before padding back into the undergrowth. 

He walked back out on two feet, straightening his shirt and grumbling under his breath. “Alright, Sam, but can we make it fast? Mom’s still worried, you know,” he admonished lightly. Sam ducked his head at that, too-long fringe of hair falling into his eyes, but he led Dean off in the direction he’d come from at a brisk pace. 

“See, I was coming out here to practice that fire spell by the stream so I wouldn’t burn anything down like Dad said I would,” Sam started. Dean nodded, picking up the pace as Sam ate up the ground with his too-long strides. “It was going okay, nothing great but some flickers at least – “

“What happened, Sam?” Dean interrupted. Not that he wasn’t glad Sam was experimenting with the heavier magic – he seemed to have a knack for it, in fact – but it always made him edgy. Everyone knew the royalty didn’t exactly approve of the general populace doing more than everyday magic. Sure, pretty much everyone could do the spell on clothing to make it shift with you, or make a couple sparks to light a fire, but once you got into the stuff that really packed a punch… well. 

Then, royal guards started to pay visits; gently enquiring about books and spellcasting aids and sweeping it all away, taking it back with them to the palace. Not violently; no one was ever hurt. They didn’t have to be. The threat of it was plenty – because what could they do? All the palace fae _did_ know the strong magic, the kind they so carefully kept from the general populace. Behind those serenely empty smiles all the guards seemed to wear were a hundred different spells, ranging from the mostly harmless to the deadly. 

“Well, one of the sparks kinda went haywire – oh, shut up Dean, it didn’t actually hurt anything – and I was chasing it when I found this.” Sam jogged ahead, pointing down the path of the small stream that ran through this part of the forest. 

Dean looked up and down the streambed for a moment before he spotted what Sam was pointing at. Etched into the muddy bank was a set of symbols, nothing he recognized, a patchy layer of soot in the middle of the scratched circle. “D’you have any idea what it’s for?” Dean asked, carefully hopping over the deepest part of the stream to get closer. Sam shook his head, brow furrowed, as he followed, the both of them peering down at the circle. 

Neither of them moved closer than arm’s length, wary of the unfamiliar magic. 

“Should we… tell someone?” Dean asked hesitantly. It wasn’t blatantly dangerous, but they had no way of knowing if it was harmful in some way they couldn’t see. 

Sam peered down at the circle for a moment longer before saying, “Just let me –” trailing off to drop to a crouch next to it. 

“Sam, careful,” Dean hissed. Sam ignored him, grabbing a stick from the streambed and scraping it through the ashes at the center of the circle. Dean hissed in a breath when Sam brought the twig to his face, sniffing at it. 

Staring off into space for a few moments, Sam said nothing. Dean tapped his foot in the sticky mud, impatient. “Sam?” he asked brusquely. “Well?” 

Sam jerked to attention. “Right, sorry. It doesn’t – I mean, I can’t smell anything that you’d use in a dangerous spell – nothing poisonous or anything – but I can’t place it. It’s not wood or herbs.” Dean reached for the twig, and Sam let it go without a fight. Bringing it to his own nose (not too close, he wasn’t stupid) Dean inhaled, promptly snorting at the smell. 

“Hair,” he said. “Burnt hair, I think.” Sam raised an eyebrow, but shrugged his agreement. “What the hell’s someone going around burning hair for?”

They had no answer, and the grumbling of Sam’s stomach cut off any further discussion. “Back home?” Dean asked. “Mom packed some food, but I’m guessing you’d like more than some bread and apples.” Sam nodded, but held out a hand for the satchel, pulling out an apple and taking a crunchy bite when Dean tossed it over. 

“Just let me grab my book,” Sam said. “I threw it in a stump over there when I heard you coming.” 

Dean smiled in approval as Sam led him to the hiding place, glad he realized the trouble he could get into if someone found him with his book of spells. Bobby had slipped it to him last year, and who knew where the old badger had gotten it. Either way, if anyone but their family found out Sam had it, he’d lose the knowledge the book held at the very least. 

Reaching a dried-out husk of a tree, Sam pulled the cracked-leather book from it, brushing fragrant bits of wood from its cover. Wordlessly they turned toward home, the strange circle not mentioned but not forgotten. 

  


The next day, Dean slept in until late morning again. Sam’s door was cracked when he walked by – probably out and about already like always, the freak. However, when he came downstairs to find John in the kitchen – his weekly attempt to cook, to Mary’s eternal amusement – he hadn’t seen Sam come down. Dean shrugged, and resolved to worry if he wasn’t back by lunchtime. Even Sam had to have a quota for worrying disappearances per 48-hour period. 

After a quick breakfast he went outside to the table John had built the bare bones of yesterday. He started in on the carvings, carefully etching the basic designs into the raw wood, spiraling stylized vines and leaves around the legs. Lost in the work, he barely noted the time passing until Mary was nudging his shoulder and offering a sandwich for lunch. 

As she turned to go, Dean called, “You seen Sam today, Mom?” Mary paused, a line appearing between her brows as she looked back at him. 

“No, I haven’t,” she said. “I assumed he’d gone off again and just lost track of time. I wouldn’t worry, darling,” she added hastily at Dean’s look. “Just like yesterday, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Dean was sure too. Almost. 

As soon as he finished the sandwich, he set off into the woods again. As soon as he hit the path he could tell something was off – unlike the near-untrackable footprints of yesterday, there were numerous snapped twigs and scuffed patches of dirt leading a clear trail down the path. Dean kicked up his pace to a light jog.

The trail continued unchanged far along the path, Dean glancing down every so often to make sure he was still on track. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was more than one set of footprints, and his worry was ratcheting higher with each step. He turned a corner and gasped at what he saw. 

Clear signs of a struggle – long swipes in the dirt, from someone falling or being dragged. Scraps of torn fabric littering the forest floor. Fat drops of blood, still a bright crimson against green leaves of a bush. “No,” he said, voice breathy with shock. “No!” 

Circling frantically, he couldn’t see where the trail went from there, not the slightest hint. Clues, he needed some sort of clue. Dean glanced over the scene, avoiding the bush for now. Don’t think about the bush. 

The fabric. Some of it was clearly Sam’s, a dark brown shade like the chocolate that they saved for when traveling sellers came. But that long strip – it was different. A mottled green he hadn’t seen anyone in his village wearing, a green that he’d only ever seen – his fist clenched tight, locked around the cloth. 

A green he’d only ever seen on a palace guard.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Palace_

Castiel woke quickly, so used to the dawn bell's signal that he was up almost before it rang. He moved easily into some stretches - arms, legs, and wings - before slipping out of his loose sleep pants and into the tunic and leggings of the outer guard. The mottled green fabric felt comfortably familiar against his skin. He paused with one foot poised above its boot. If he was right - and he probably was, he was good with dates - it was one year to the day he'd been promoted to the guard. 

He smiled quietly down at the floor, proud. Many fae didn't have the skill or the perseverance to last in the guard, with its exacting standards and long hours of (often thankless) work. He'd even had doubts that he'd last longer than that first month. 

With a somewhat jauntier step than usual he made his way to the courtyard where the captains would direct each guard on their patrol for the morning. He looked among the organized chaos of the collective guard milling around in the muted dawn light for Anna's bright hair. Even with the rainbow of different tunics, specific to the different guards, she always stood out, her red hair as lively as the sparking fire of her magic. 

He'd greeted a few other guards - Inias, Hester, Uriel - before he found Anna. One of the newest guards, Samandriel, stood at her side, blue eyes wide as he took in the briskly efficient activity around them. "Good morning, Anna," Castiel said, flicking his eyes over to Samandriel before tilting his head questioningly. 

"And a good morning to you too, Castiel," she replied with a smile, before launching into the day's business. "I was thinking you could take Samandriel here out past the falls today. He's one of our best new recruits when it comes to scouting and I think you'd do well together." At Castiel's nod of assent she continued, mapping out a plan for them. She elaborated more than she usually did; for Samandriel's benefit, he guessed. 

Before too long they were suiting up - just light leather armor for these patrols, a dagger each, and a little pack of pre-cast spells in convenient sachets - and making their way out the gate. 

Samandriel kept pace easily, he was glad to see, as they split off from the other pairs of guards. Grasping for something to discuss while they made the trek, Castiel asked, "Is it your first time coming out past the falls?" 

The inhabitants of the palace often didn't leave the city proper. There was no real reason to - everything they needed was within its waterfall-bounded borders. Their own little paradise, the royals joked. 

Samandriel nodded in answer. "We only ever looked out over them in training." He looked up at Castiel with a wide-eyed stare Castiel was quickly becoming familiar with. "What's it like?" 

Castiel looked out in front of them, the dense forest beyond the falls just barely visible through the damp morning mist. "To be honest… not very different from here. There are more trees." 

That earned him a skeptical look. "More trees? That's it?" 

He shrugged helplessly. Despite the stories told around the palace, Castiel couldn't identify any great divide between their walled-off city and the world outside. Granted, all he'd seen was empty forest, but the energy of the place – the thrum of magic that any fae could sense – that felt the same. He trusted that feeling more than any story. 

They walked on without further conversation until the rumble-rush of the waterfalls, ever-present in the background but growing louder with each step, became overpowering. This rise in the hill was one of Castiel’s favorite places; a dramatic slope that showcased a perfectly framed view of the series of falls surrounding the palace. Mist rose into the air from the furious tumble of water over rock, cascading to form the natural barrier they called the palace wall. 

Between the powerful rush of the falls, the slippery rocks, and the steep terrain, the palace was as good as impenetrable to any fae that couldn’t fly. Of course, they could. Castiel extended his wings halfway before he remembered Samandriel’s inexperience. “Are you okay to go on?” he asked over his shoulder, the wind carrying the damp tang of the falls as well as his words. 

Samandriel nodded and extended his own wings, narrower and longer than Castiel’s. They were similarly colored, though, silvery gray on the backs and white on the undersides. With a few powerful downstrokes they were both airborne, buoyed easily by the breeze. Castiel could see the pinpricks of other pairs in the distance, lifting off and winging their way out on their own patrols. 

“We’ll be covering the southeastern portion of the forest. You’ll remain high in the air while I patrol within the trees.” Castiel had to raise his voice to be heard above the wind’s noise. He caught Samandriel’s nod of agreement from the corner of his eye. Castiel hesitated before continuing, unsure whether reassurances would be taken well or not. “This should be a routine patrol, and this area is usually quiet. But don’t hesitate to let me know if you think anything is wrong. You’ll be able to see more than I can from up here.” 

Samandriel’s nod was more decisive this time, as was the “Yes, sir,” he followed it with. Castiel flicked a wingtip in acknowledgement before entering a smooth dive, dropping toward the forest’s canopy. With the ease of long practice, he found a wide enough gap in the treetops to drop through without incident. 

The transition from open sky to dense forest was striking, as always. Though his eyes adjusted quickly, it was a different matter entirely to distinguish between the myriad sounds the forest contained after the fairly one-note rush of the wind above. He folded his wings and landed lightly on a wide branch, tucking himself into the shadows near the trunk, as he acclimated. 

After a minute’s adjustment, he raised a hand skyward and let a small pulse of green light fly from his palm. He knew Samandriel had seen the signal when the dark silhouette above banked sharply, right then left, in answer. 

Glad that the new guard was performing well so far, Castiel turned his attention fully to his patrol. He was one of only a few guards with a wingspan short and broad enough to fly at all in the close paths of the outer forest, but even he couldn’t sustain flight in the dense understory. Instead, he was forced to fly in short bursts, frequently landing to climb through the branches. It was tiring work, but engaging, and he enjoyed it immensely. 

Familiar with this area of the woods, he quickly maneuvered alongside one of the paths that ran through it. Fae that lived outside the palace rarely had reason to come this close to the palace, but in the event they did, they’d likely gravitate to one of these old trails. They had probably been in frequent use at some point in history, but not anymore – they were scarcely more passable than a deer trail now. Still, they were more forgiving than the forest’s underbrush. 

Keeping along the path, Castiel began to maneuver through the trees. He scanned the forest floor below, trusting that Samandriel would notice any intruders higher in the treetops. He was glad for the mazelike forest interior he navigated during these patrols, keeping him intent on the forest’s surroundings. Part of his mind always insisted that on this day, as on every day before, he’d encounter no one in this part of the forest. No matter how likely it was that the prediction was true, he had a duty to carry out. 

A rustle, the sound of snapping branches, broke through the trees. It was too loud to be a bird or rodent. Pulling back into the shadows again, Castiel threw up another short burst of light for Samandriel; yellow this time. Probably only a deer, but best to be careful. It sounded like the creature was coming this way, so Castiel did his best to remain utterly motionless. 

As he’d suspected, the intruder appeared on the path – and, to his surprise, it _was_ an intruder. A fae, camouflaged well in fabric woven green and brown, slipped quietly through the undergrowth. Had Castiel not been trained extensively in tracking and scouting, he doubted he would have heard the other fae at all. 

He debated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of signaling Samandriel. He’d almost certainly give up his own position, but the backup greatly increased the chances of detaining the intruding fae without injury. In the end, he decided to take his chances on his own for the moment. If he didn’t follow up on the yellow alert soon, Samandriel would check on him anyway. 

Decision made, he settled into a ready crouch and waited for the intruder to come alongside his perch. He eased one of the sachets spelled to slow down opponents from his pack. Hopefully Gabriel hadn’t decided to switch their garrison’s out for tickling curses again. They did accomplish basically the same thing, but he’d prefer not to deal with a hysterically giggling opponent when a subdued one would do. 

The fae in range, he lifted his hand and threw. His aim perfect, the sachet soared through the air and impacted on – the ground. With a sudden twist of his torso, the fae had gotten out of the way. He was stumbling a bit from the puff of spelled herbs rising from the broken sachet, bright green eyes a little dazed, but nowhere near subdued. 

With an internal growl of frustration, Castiel jumped from his perch. Wings flaring to control his impact, he kicked out, foot snapping into the fae’s broad shoulder. He recovered too quickly, swinging back around and bringing a fist into the delicate joint of Castiel’s wing before he could fold it out of the way. Castiel didn’t let the blow sway him for more than a moment, darting back and forward again, delivering a sharp punch across the fae’s chin in return. 

As the fight continued, Castiel found himself more evenly matched than he had suspected. The fae landed half as many hits as he did, but easily rolled and recovered from Castiel’s precise blows. While Castiel was lighter on his feet, each punch the other fae managed to land was vicious, bone-rattling in force. 

He guessed the fight could have continued to the point of exhaustion for both of them had Samandriel not arrived (finally, part of him griped). Castiel made sure not to let his relief show as his comrade dropped silently down behind the other fae. True to their training, he pulled out one of his own sachets, the red of a total knockout spell rather than the stun that Castiel had tried. 

The sachet exploded across the fae’s shoulder, spelled herbs spilling out to eddy in the air between them. Castiel had a split second to grimace; he would be caught in the spell as well. 

Except… he wasn’t falling unconscious. He watched in confusion as the herbs swirled as if in a strong breeze, circling him and the other fae. An identical expression of puzzlement was on the fae’s face as he met those bright eyes from feet away, and on Samandriel’s from the other side of the clearing. Castiel made to step away, and the spell picked up speed, ruffling his feathers and blowing his hair into wild tufts. The other fae opened his mouth as if to speak, coughing as the wind whipped dirt into his face. Castiel was forced to close his eyes against the onslaught, and with a sharp tugging sensation, he felt no more.

_Elsewhere_

Dean stirred slowly, already groaning as he registered his aching muscles, a heavy weight on his legs. His eyes felt gritty, as did his throat, and he coughed as he sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he peered blearily down at his legs only to scramble away as he found the body sprawled there. That launched him into another coughing fit, and he wished wholeheartedly for a drink of water. Possibly something stronger. 

Thankfully, the body stirred at being so forcibly upset. The figure pushed to its knees, wings flaring open behind it briefly before crumpling with a sound of pain. Wait. Wings?

Suddenly it all came rushing back; Dean’s hurried march to the palace, determined to find out what had happened to his brother. To bring him home, because there was no way in hell he wasn’t just fine. His run-in with a palace fae, a guard – this guard, in fact; the arrival of another who’d tossed a spell and then – 

From there, Dean had no clue what had happened. However, he thought grimly, this guard probably had an idea of what that spell had done. It was his buddy who’d used it. Come to think of it, this fae might be his ticket into the palace. He could admit to himself that his chances of breaching the palace on his own were pathetically small, but they looked a lot better with a palace fae in front of him. 

He looked with concern on the crumpled form of the guard in front of him. He hadn’t thought he’d hurt him that badly in their fight – the guard had been almost scarily good, each move calculated and practiced. Even if he didn’t need the fae’s help, something in him rebelled against leaving him like that, palace guard and all they represented or no. 

“Uh, hey,” he tried out, voice raspy with the ton of dirt it felt like he’d inhaled. The fae startled, apparently not having noticed him before. His attempt at a defensive crouch only made him let out another quiet, pained hiss. “No, stop, it’s alright,” Dean continued, putting his hands out palm-up. “I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s Dean, okay? Let me help.” The other fae looked him up and down briefly, blue eyes shaded, before nodding. 

“I’m Castiel,” he replied. “My wing seems to be injured. Probably in the landing,” he added quickly, catching Dean’s grimace as he remembered landing a pretty solid blow to one of the wings. 

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, trying to recall what Mary did for sprained and broken bones. “Can I look at it?” he asked. He’d never seen Mary tend to a wing, but he guessed the same basic principles would apply. Again, Castiel paused before assenting. He turned to give Dean access to his back, eyes flicking over his shoulder every few seconds. 

One wing was neatly folded against his back, silvery gray feathers slightly mussed. The other Castiel held slightly away from his body, only half-folded and twitching uncomfortably every so often. Thankfully, nothing was at a weird angle, so a break was unlikely. “I’m going to touch it now, okay?” he said, waiting for Castiel to nod again. 

The feathers were softer than he’d expected, silky against his fingers. He straightened a few of the ones that were badly skewed as he gently prodded along the lines of the bones. Castiel held very still through the examination, except for those twitches that seemed out of his control. As calming as it was to fix the disarray of feathers, Dean was glad to be finished. “No breaks,” he proclaimed, “Probably a sprain. I saw plenty of sticks on my way in, we should be able to find a splint pretty easy – “ he started, only to break off as he looked around for the first time. 

Gone were the lush green trees and thorny undergrowth. Towering pines now surrounded them on all sides, massive with age. They seemed to be the only plants that thrived here, a thick carpet of their needles shed on the ground hindering other growth. After Dean didn’t continue speaking, Castiel apparently noticed their surroundings as well; he heard a sharp intake of breath from the other fae. 

“Castiel,” he said slowly. “Maybe you oughta tell me what exactly that spell was supposed to do.” 

Castiel seemed to have forgotten the pain in his wing as he carefully stood and looked around. “It wasn’t supposed to do this,” he said firmly. “It was a knockout spell. Unconsciousness for about six hours, nothing else. It seems to have managed the unconsciousness,” he said, nodding toward the sun, considerably higher in the sky than it had been, “but we are obviously not where we were before.” 

“Any idea where we _are_ , then?” Dean snapped. Sam had already been gone a day, and it felt as if he was slipping further from him with each minute that passed. He couldn’t afford this kind of delay. 

Castiel was having none of his attitude, apparently, leveling a hard stare at him before speaking. “It’s nowhere I’ve been before. However, I know a spell that can determine our position relative to the palace. It would be easier if I didn’t have throbbing pain every time I moved,” he said, pointedly twitching his good wing. 

Dean sighed, trying to stay calm. “Right. We splint your wing and then you do your spell, and then we head back. Okay.” He squinted in the dimness of the forest, pinpointing a slender branch not too far off the ground. It was a moment’s concentration before the branch fell to the forest floor, cleanly split from its tree. Castiel cocked his head but didn’t comment at the use of magic. 

Retrieving the branch, Dean stripped the smaller twigs by hand before looking for some kind of tie. Castiel wordlessly offered some strips of fabric that looked like they’d been torn from his tunic; its shorter, ragged bottom edge confirmed his guess. Dean fought back the memory of the last time he’d seen a torn strip of a guard’s uniform. 

It was the work of quite a few minutes to splint Castiel’s wing, Mary’s technique harder to replicate than she made it look. Not to mention the way the feathers seemed to jump out of order at the barest provocation. Castiel hadn’t said it was uncomfortable, but it felt wrong to leave them sticking every which way. And since Castiel didn’t complain, Dean carefully smoothed the wayward feathers into some semblance of order. 

Once finished splinting and arranging, Dean glanced between the two wings. Though the other was neatly folded, the feathers were terribly messy when compared to the splinted wing. “Uh, do you want me to fix the feathers on the other wing too?” Dean asked. He’d sort of been given permission to touch the injured one, but he wasn’t sure how Castiel would react to any more contact than was necessary. 

Castiel startled at his words, apparently thrown out of his thoughts. “No! No, that’s fine, thank you,” he said, quickly turning to face Dean. Dean shrugged; whatever made him happy. Castiel stared at him, wide-eyed, for a full minute before Dean prompted, “The spell?” 

With that, Castiel seemed to regain whatever composure he’d lost. He looked around, then walked decisively toward one of the pines. With nothing better to do, Dean followed. Castiel dropped to the ground, obviously accustomed to accommodating the wings as he sat. The splint only gave him trouble for a moment before he settled, closing his eyes. 

Dean plopped to the ground in front of Castiel, pleasantly surprised by the springy softness of the pine needles. When he glanced back at Castiel, one eye was cracked open, revealing a slit of blue. “What?” 

“I need to concentrate for this spell to work. It’s almost entirely mental.” 

“…Okay?” 

“Dean. I can’t concentrate with you staring at me.” 

“Your eyes are closed!”

“And yet, you’re still distracting.” 

“I’m being quiet.” 

“Dean.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move.”

With an aggravated huff, Dean got up and stalked around the trunk to lean against the opposite side. “Am I distracting you from over here?” 

“Not unless you speak.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, but kept quiet. After a few minutes passed with only the soft hushing of wind through pine needles and their slow breaths, he was tempted to check on Castiel, but didn’t want to risk making him start again. He’d made it through two local ballads in his head, halfway through a third, before he heard Castiel shift on the other side of the tree. 

“So?” he said breathlessly. “Where are we?” Castiel looked kind of serious, but then, he’d looked kind of serious for most of their short acquaintance. 

“We’re west of the palace,” Castiel said. 

When no further information was forthcoming, Dean prompted, “Do you know how _far_ west?” 

Castiel nodded slowly, brow furrowed. “Not precisely. But I’d say a few days’ flight.” 

With a growing sense of dread, Dean asked, “And for those of us who can’t fly? As in, both of us right now?” 

“Closer to a fortnight,” Castiel admitted. 

“A _fortnight_?” Dean said incredulously. “You’ve got to be joking.” 

“A little less than two weeks if we hurry, and encounter no obstacles, which I don’t think is likely,” Castiel clarified. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your hurry, Dean?” 

Dean straightened up, returning the glare. “None of your business.” 

They remained at a standoff for a few moments before Dean sighed gustily. “Look, I’m not going to tell you, and it doesn’t matter right now anyway. Let’s just go. You can’t want to stay here any more than I do.” 

Castiel seemed to accept that for the moment, motioning him in the direction they needed to go.

The shadows the setting sun cast crept low and long over the ground when Castiel finally called a halt. “We need to find shelter,” he said firmly, already peering around for a suitable place. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he looked, which meant he was most decidedly not helping.

“Why? You can’t be that tired yet, and there’s plenty of light still. Don’t you want to get back?” A note of anxiety threaded through Dean’s words, subtle but still there. Castiel turned to look at him, squinting in the dimness. The other fae was nearly bouncing on his heels, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. 

Plenty of light? Castiel had pushed until the last minute he thought safe before stopping them. He could barely see. He peered at Dean perplexedly for a moment before abruptly noticing the change. “Maybe there’s plenty of light for those of us with cat eyes,” he huffed. 

“Oh,” Dean blinked. “Right.” Instead of their previous green, his irises were shaded a light gold, near-glowing in the shadows. Judging from Dean’s befuddled blinking, he had never shifted unconsciously before. Castiel frowned, wondering just how poorly fae outside the palace had been taught - it was completely second-nature to shift whenever it would be helpful, for him and the fae he knew at least. It was why his wings were always there, ready to use.

“Regardless,” Castiel finally said, “I can’t lead you in the dark, and you don’t know where to go.” Truthfully, he probably could – but he didn’t trust Dean not to lead him into a low-hanging branch out of spite. Nearly every interaction he’d had with the common fae from outside the palace had been hostile, unexpectedly so at first. Now he anticipated the antagonism; even understood it somewhat. He knew he lived a relatively charmed life. 

Dean stared at him for a long moment before sighing heavily and subsiding. “Okay. We rest, and as soon as it’s light we get going.” His challenging stare dared Castiel to protest. 

Honestly, he very much wanted to know what was so urgent that Dean needed to return to the palace so quickly – why he had been rushing there, and off the main roads, in the first place. He had already decided to throw up an alarm – subtly if possible – once they were within range of the castle, should Dean continue to rebuff his questions. 

“I don’t think there’s much choice in where we sleep,” Castiel commented. The forest had been unrelieved monotony for the hours they’d walked, tall pine after tall pine. The most they’d be able to do was choose a tree and pile needles for a pallet. Dean nodded his agreement, and they walked to a nearby pine. Silently they shoved needles into piles, and without words settled onto their makeshift beds. 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. He had to lie on his stomach to avoid crushing his wing, and needles bit into his belly through his tunic. He heard a quiet mumble from Dean’s general direction, nearly drowned by the whisper of needles as Castiel squirmed. “What was that?” 

“I said ‘good night,’” came a slightly louder murmur. 

Castiel huffed out a quiet almost-laugh in surprise. “Good night,” he returned, and pillowed his head on his arms to sleep.

Dean tossed and turned most of the night, only sleeping for brief, restless intervals. At the first hint of a grey cast the eastern sky he got to his feet, brushing clinging needles from his shirt and arms. Either the rising sun or the brush of his feet against the pine needles woke Castiel, who muzzily lifted his head.

“Ready?” Dean asked brusquely. Castiel mostly ignored him, leaning against the pine they’d slept under as he rose so as not to disturb his wing. After a few perfunctory stretches (that Dean watched with growing impatience) Castiel finally turned to him. 

“We need to discuss our food situation before we continue,” he said. At his words, Dean registered the hunger and thirst he’d been ignoring, willfully or not; an uncomfortable burn in the back of his throat and a hollow aching in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten more than a handful of berries off the path since he’d set off from home. 

Looking around again, he saw the same unending rows of tall pines, the same dark carpet of needles extending into the distance. Now that he was paying attention, the silence of the forest was eerie. There was no busy rustling of rodents in the dirt or branches, no bright chattering birdsong. The quiet all but rang in his ears. 

“We can’t go on without water, or without food,” Castiel continued. “I can steer us in the right direction, but I can’t guarantee it’s the most hospitable or survivable route. It’s no use taking a straight shot back if we die of dehydration in the first day.” 

Dean had to nod. “So what do you suggest?” 

Castiel huffed out an annoyed sound, wings twitching behind him. “Normally I’d just fly above the trees and take a look. That’s obviously not about to happen.” 

“Well, what about climbing?” Dean sized up the tree they’d slept under. It looked easy enough to scale, after he’d gotten to the lowest branch – which was considerably higher than he was tall. The branches were long and sturdy, evenly spaced. “I could maybe get high enough to at least give us a better idea of where we are.” 

“And what if you fall out of the tree and break your neck?” Castiel said bluntly. 

Dean winced, then scowled. “I’d try to avoid that. I don’t really see another option.” The itch to keep moving was as bad as ever, tensing his muscles with the urge to _do_ something, anything. Thankfully, it was only a moment later that Castiel relaxed his frown and nodded slowly. 

“Okay. But if you feel like you’re running out of stable branches, just climb down. Don’t risk it.” 

“All right, mom,” Dean muttered, before turning to the tree. With surprisingly little effort - maybe due to the sense of _oldness_ , of old magic, that enveloped them in this forest - he shifted out his claws. A few wince-worthy experiments and scraped palms later and he’d figured out how to use the roughness of the pine’s bark to his advantage, climbing ten feet, twenty feet, above the ground. At forty feet or so Castiel was a pale dot below him, and he quickly focused back on the branches in front of him. Bravado was a lot easier with two feet firmly planted on the ground. 

He climbed until he found a wide, sturdy branch, carefully straddling it and resting his arms, flexing the muscles of fingers tired from gripping and clawing for handholds. Leaning back against the trunk, both hands firmly gripping rough bark, he surveyed the forest from above. 

First he had to fight back a moment of intense vertigo, seeing matchstick trees stretching into the distance. After the initial shock, though, he sighed out in relief. Despite appearances on the ground, this eerie, empty forest didn’t go on forever. 

Wishing hard for a piece of paper and something to write with, he stared out at the scenery and memorized. 

The climb back down was more harrowing than the ascent – at least then he didn’t have to keep looking down to find his footing. He managed to make it nearly halfway before his grip slipped dangerously, sending him skidding down the trunk before he caught another branch. 

Chest heaving, Dean chanced a glance down. He quickly refocused on the branch in front of him. Yep, still worryingly far to drop. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to find a way down from this particular branch. “Um,” he tried, voice shaking. He swallowed to steady it before starting again. “Castiel? You there?” 

“Yes. Are you stuck?” The _I-told-you-so_ was present in every syllable.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I just thought I'd take a nice relaxing nap up here." Glancing down again, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye; Castiel backing up and circling around the tree. 

"Okay," Castiel finally called. "If you stretch out your right arm, you should be able to reach another branch." 

Tentatively, Dean reached to the right, finding and sinking his claws into the sturdy branch he found there. "Then?" 

"Right foot. Swing over. There's another branch below the one you have now." 

Dean bristled. "You want me to let go of this one?" 

"Yes." 

Dean huffed in a breath, glaring down at Castiel. The other fae stared impassively up at him. Dean didn't want to put his life in this pampered palace fae's hands, but it wasn't like he had a choice. And, he acknowledged, Castiel probably wouldn't make it out of here without him. He could walk for days before reaching water or food. Gritting his teeth, Dean adjusted his grip, kicked off, and swung over.

For one heart-stopping moment, he was suspended precariously by one hand, feet kicking in empty air. Then, the thud of his boots against wood, and he was steady on the branch. His breath came out in a relieved whoosh. 

"Straight down from there," Castiel called, a note of satisfaction in his voice. Dean nodded, though the other fae probably couldn't see the motion, and descended carefully. 

He couldn't keep in the utterly relieved sigh once his boots hit the blanket of needles on the ground, rocking on his heels to assure himself of his secure footing. 

"Okay," he said once Castiel had walked over. "We got lucky. It looks like we're near the edge of this dumbass forest. Remind me which way we're headed?" 

Castiel closed his eyes; thinking or divining, Dean assumed. "Almost due east," Castiel finally said, pointing. 

Dean nodded as he thought, recalling the landscape he'd seen. "Okay. I guess you were right there, there's no way we'd find water that way. It's all like this from what I could see, just trees. If we go a little bit more to the north, we'll leave this forest and hit what looks like meadows. There's streams running through those, so I'd guess more plants and maybe even animals too." 

The look on Castiel's face could almost be a smile, Dean thought. Without another word, he motioned for them to go.

Castiel had had his misgivings about the tree-climbing - and with good reason, as Dean had shown with his little slip. However, he couldn't deny his happiness that they now had a heading, a more definite idea of what lay in front of them. He was used to having the bird's eye view, and the uncertainty had been rubbing at his nerves like a feather out of place. Which reminded him of the non-metaphorical ruffled feathers he was dealing with.

Though Dean had done a surprisingly good job at smoothing the feathers of his injured wing back into place, his other wing had gotten no such treatment. The one attempt he'd made at fixing them had ended badly - his injured wing most decidedly did not like the twist in his torso he needed to groom. His twinging muscles had distracted him from the discomfort in his feathers for a little while, but now that he and Dean were simply walking in silence, it was quickly getting unbearable. 

In an effort to distract himself, he broke the silence. "What do you do?" 

Dean leveled a strange look at him. "What do you mean, what do I do?" 

"When you're not sneaking into royal palaces. What do you do? A career?" 

Dean just looked at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly. "Carpenter." 

Castiel blinked. Somehow that wasn't what he'd expected. Of course, the imagined 'thief' or 'bounty hunter' obviously wouldn't announce their profession to a palace guard, but he couldn't imagine why a carpenter would want to enter the palace so badly. And in such secrecy. 

"Of course, I already know what you do," Dean said with a wry smirk. 

Not sure what to say in reply, Castiel nodded, returning his gaze to the unvarying trees. 

"So do you enjoy it?" Dean said after a few moments, tone sharper than before. 

"Enjoy what?" Castiel said. 

"Protecting stuck-up royals." 

Castiel turned to look at Dean again. "Excuse me?" he returned, voice just as barbed. "Those 'stuck-up' royals are my family. You should show them the respect they're owed." 

Dean's laugh was utterly humorless. "Owed? What do I owe any royal? Sitting up in your precious palace, way up there in the clouds? You don't give a single shit about us down here." 

"We protect you. Keep you - "

"What, safe? Safe from who? The only fae we're scared of in my town are you guys. You've got the wealth, the magic, all the power." Dean stopped walking, rounding on Castiel with his eyes a bright, furious green. "You've never seen someone die from something as ridiculous as an infection, have you? I have. I've seen my mom do everything she can with herbs and poultices and have nothing come of it. I have a friend - Bobby - he's nearly paralyzed from a tree falling on him, when I know for a fact that you royals," he spat the word, "Know a dozen different spells that could fix him." 

Dean glared, stalking right up to Castiel. "And then there's _you_ ," he said, finger stabbing into the center of Castiel's chest. "Guards. S'posed to protect everyone, but all you do is help _his royal majesty_ and his cohorts keep all the power. Keep us all scared." 

"Dean," Castiel finally broke in. Dean subsided, breath still huffing in and out angrily. He waited, eyebrows raised challengingly for some sort of rebuttal. Castiel swallowed. "I'm sorry for what you've gone through. I truly am," he persisted at Dean's incredulous noise. "I would help you if I could. But there's nothing I could do. I have my orders, as do the other guards, even the royals." 

"So it's all down to Michael, then?" Dean said, lip curling. Castiel only considered correcting with 'King Michael' for a moment before Dean's glare convinced him that that was a battle he wouldn't win. 

"No, it isn't," Castiel said. "It's down to the Father. As he says, so it is done." 

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, right." 

Castiel felt his eyes widen in shock. "You deny the existence of the Father?" 

"No," Dean said slowly. "I call on him for my magic, and he answers. I can see that he's real, but - never mind." He started walking again. 

"No," Castiel said, unwilling to let it lie. "What were you going to say?" 

"I just - " Dean stopped again, shaking his head with a painful-looking smile. "I don't think you'd like to hear it." 

Castiel just stared at him, unblinking. As it had worked with many others before him, Dean caved after a minute of intense scrutiny. "Fine. Fine. Who hears the Father's edicts? Who's responsible for figuring out what the Father wants?" 

"King Michael," Castiel said. 

"Anyone else? Anyone at all?" 

"His advisors help him interpret the Word, and his brothers to implement - " 

"No, I mean, who else hears it, straight from the Father's mouth?" 

"I don't think King Michael hears it in that particular way - " 

"Don't play dumb, Castiel. Who else hears exactly what the Father wants?" 

Castiel sighed. "No one. Only King Michael." It was obvious where Dean was going with this.

"Haven't you ever considered that Michael might just be doing what he wants? Ignoring the Father's wishes, going by his own instead?" 

Castiel's wings twitched uncomfortably, the injured one protesting the movement. Of course he had. He personally had never patrolled the villages, but he'd heard Anna whispering angrily to Alistair or Meg more than once after they'd gone. Not much was clear from the hushed arguments, but Anna was clearly unhappy with what they’d been doing. And nothing that happened on a patrol happened without the approval of the royals, and thus the approval of King Michael. And, ostensibly, the Father’s will. 

"I trust King Michael," he finally said. "He's my family." 

"That doesn't make him perfect," Dean said shortly. "It doesn't even make him good." Thankfully, he left it at that, and they walked on in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, both were panting heavily and the sun was close to the horizon again. "Praise the Father," Dean croaked out wryly, if for nothing else than for the change in view. After that one charged conversation, neither he nor Castiel had been very talkative, only speaking when Castiel needed to adjust their course. The eerily empty forest hadn't helped the awkwardness of their silence, offering nothing but endlessly similar pines, even their footsteps quietly muffled. 

Castiel was squinting out over the pleasantly grassy field in front of them. "I don't see any of the streams you mentioned." 

Glad at least that they were on the same page priority-wise, Dean looked as well. The grasses made a soft hushing sound in the breeze, not unlike the rush of waves breaking on a shore, but he thought he heard a quiet burbling underneath that. "I don't see one, but I think I can hear one," he said. 

Castiel thought for a minute. "I don't like the idea of stumbling around these fields after nightfall. I'd hate to discover a stream by falling into it." 

"How long do you think we have before sunset?" Dean asked, squinting back at the sun setting behind them. "Half an hour?" Castiel shrugged and nodded. "What if I shifted and looked that way? I'm pretty sure I could find it." His hearing was superb as a bobcat, and the river at home had a distinctive scent - he'd probably be more successful either way. 

Castiel was frowning, though. "What?" Dean asked. His idea was the only one they had other than stumbling around in the dark; there was no need to look so pissy about it if he couldn't come up with a better one. 

"Nothing," Castiel said, arranging his face back into impassivity. "Go ahead." 

Dean shrugged, not wanting to dwell on it. He dropped to the ground to shift before feeling a prickle of self-consciousness. "Um, could you maybe stop staring? It's creepy." 

Castiel blinked at him for a moment before turning around. Dean shook his head, concentrated briefly, and shifted. 

It was so quick that he actually staggered, letting out a surprised sound that was _definitely_ not a meow. He'd never shifted so fast before. With this and the eyes, it could hardly be a fluke - what was it with this place? 

"Dean?" he heard, a note of concern in the loud voice. He shook his head briefly before looking up at Castiel. His face was much clearer now in the rapidly darkening night. Dean nodded, then frowned mentally. They really should have discussed this more while they could both speak. He didn't want to shift back yet, though - who knew if it was just exceptionally easy to be in animal form here? He'd always been taught not to shift more than absolutely necessary. 

Time for some charades, then. He sat back on his haunches and pointed a forepaw at Castiel, then stabbed it imperiously at the ground Castiel was standing on. 

Castiel frowned. "Stay here?" 

Dean nodded firmly. It would be easy for him to follow his own scent trail back - he really didn't want to try to find Castiel and then lead him back to the water. He wasn't sure he knew Castiel's scent well enough.

Satisfied that Castiel would stay put, Dean turned back to the field. Pricking his ears brought a multitude of sounds; the chirping of small birds, the rustle of grass in the wind, and - there. A soft, subtle chattering, water over earth. He padded forward into the grass, the tall blades brushing and catching at his fur. 

Winding his way through natural breaks in the plants, he followed the sound. As its volume grew from a low burble, his pace picked up, until he was trotting quickly towards his goal. He crashed through a break in the grass before he'd even processed it, splashing abruptly into a stream. His laughter came out in an odd sort of caterwaul, quickly stifled as he dunked his head and lapped greedily at the water. 

He only allowed himself a little bit of water, nowhere near the lake he felt he'd need to feel hydrated again, before trotting out of the stream. He shook off perfunctorily, then returned the way he'd come, already refreshed. 

Castiel had dropped to the ground, idly stroking through the feathers of his good wing. Dean's eyes must have reflected back the remaining light before Castiel could see him properly, as he straightened up, hand on his dagger, before relaxing. "I take it you found the water?" Castiel asked, an amused note in his voice. Dean just shook himself off again, and with only a brief thought in that direction he was staggering to two feet again. 

Castiel caught him by the arm as he teetered, overbalancing, holding until he righted himself. "Shit, that's never happened before," he muttered. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "What's never happened?" 

"Shifting," Dean replied. "Never been that easy before." 

They stared at each other for a moment in the darkness as they both thought. Dean shrugged. "Whatever it is - the air, the water, whatever - it's not doing any harm. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." 

"Hasn't done any harm yet," Castiel corrected, but let it slide in the face of other concerns. "The water?" 

"Right," Dean said, a little embarrassed. Castiel's voice was rough - rougher than it'd been before, that is - with thirst, and it wasn't going to stay light for long. "This way." 

Dean led them back through the prairie grass as fast as he could without losing his way - the changed vantage point made it a little harder to judge the direction. When the stream came into view they both jogged for it, immediately cupping water in their hands to drink. 

"Slowly, remember," Dean thought to say, a little breathless. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like Castiel had rolled his eyes. 

After they'd both drunk their fill - or at least what they'd judged to be a good limit before their stomachs burst - they elected to sleep.

"Food would be nice," Castiel had said wryly, "But I like our chances better when both of us can see." Dean was glad he hadn't played the 'we're both exhausted' card - though he had to admit it was true, he wasn't sure he could've let that stop him. 

Though the grass was thick it was also sharp-edged, and they decided to settle as close to the streambed as they were willing to risk. 

"'Night," Dean called out, habit, like it had been the first night. Just like last time, he grimaced into the darkness after the unintentional pleasantry. But just like last time, Castiel returned a "good night" of his own.

They both slept better with stomachs full of water, but Castiel woke with the sun anyway - part habit, and part cramping hunger. As he sat up, he heard a quiet groan from Dean's direction.

"Food?" he asked shortly. 

"Food," came the fervent agreement. 

He and Dean got a drink of water - mostly to stifle the ache in their stomachs - before moving off. 

"What d'you think we'll find?" Dean asked, breath coming harder as they trudged through the grass. Neither of their endurance was at its best, both flagging from the lack of food. 

"Berries. Roots, maybe, if we dig. I can hear birds, but I don't think we'd catch them anyway," Castiel replied. 

Dean frowned. "D'you think there're fish in that stream?" His voice was slipping into a sleepier cadence the longer they walked. 

Castiel just shrugged in return. He'd never fished before, but he wondered at their chances if they had neither net, nor bait, nor pole. Either way, Dean let it drop, continuing to examine the plants they walked slowly by. 

After what felt like miles of walking, but Castiel objectively knew was a few hundred yards at most, he spotted a bright patch of color. "That way," he said, quickly veering in front of Dean to approach the bright red break in the grass. He heard a muffled sound of surprise from Dean, but the fae followed him regardless. 

"Berries, thank the Father," Castiel sighed when he got a good look. They might be poisonous, but there was an easy way to tell. 

Digging in a pocket of his vest, he came up with a small stone. Dean arrived then, puffing irritatedly. "What's that?" he panted. 

"It's enchanted. Checks for poison," Castiel replied shortly. He held his breath as he passed it over the berry patch, sighing heavily in relief when it stayed its natural blue-black. "They're safe," he proclaimed, pocketing the stone. 

When he looked back up, Dean was still staring at him expectantly, hands on hips. He looked ravenous, and Castiel raised his eyebrows in question. 

"I'm supposed to trust your magic rock?" At Castiel's look, he continued, "Excuse me, but I've known you a day. I'm not eating a single berry until you do." 

Castiel rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Fine. More for me," he said, snatching a handful of the reddish-purple berries and stuffing them in his mouth. He stared defiantly at Dean as he chewed. 

Dean made an odd huffing sound, and Castiel cocked his head in question. That seemed to trigger something, Dean bursting into a loud peal of laughter. Surprised, Castiel swallowed his mouthful (somewhat laboriously, it was a large mouthful), and blurted, "What?" 

Through a breathy giggle, Dean said, "You looked ridiculous," immediately subsiding into hysteria again. 

Castiel glowered and grabbed another handful, electing not to comment, chewing sullenly on his (much smaller) mouthful until Dean quieted. One look at Castiel's face had him chuckling again, but he managed to contain it as he started picking berries for himself. 

"Sorry," Dean said, not sounding the slightest bit regretful. "It's just - you looked like one of those chipmunks, cheeks all puffed out." 

"You seem to be in a similar state," Castiel replied, pointedly glancing at Dean's chin, red with berry juice. 

"Yeah, well," Dean answered, not an answer at all. 

They munched on the berries in silence for a while, Dean sprawling over the ground while Castiel sat cross-legged, careful of his wing. Now that he was no longer hungry or thirsty, that itch of feathers-the-wrong-way had returned. Unless he concentrated, his wings twitched uncomfortably, trying to right themselves. Dean noticed his shiftiness after a little while. 

"D'you need me to check that splint? You're kinda twitchy over there." The offer was made bluntly and simply, no hint of the teasing from before. It was that that made Castiel accept, turning so Dean had better access. He leaned his elbows on his knees, steadying. 

After a minute with no hands meeting his wings, Castiel turned to look at Dean inquiringly. 

"Um. Unless you want berry juice all over your wings, we better head back to the stream first." 

They each collected a measure of berries, piling them in the makeshift slings of their shirts. Taking a more relaxed pace, they strolled back to the stream, popping berries in their mouths every few steps. 

They piled their berries in a little nest of grass near their sleeping spot, then both splashed their hands in the stream, cleaning them as best they could. Swiping his hands down his shirt to dry them, Dean asked, "Ready?" 

Castiel nodded, settling down on the ground in the same pose as before. This time it was only a moment before he felt surprisingly gentle hands lightly prodding his splinted wing. 

"Still have feeling everywhere? Not cutting off your circulation?" Dean asked as he worked. Castiel nodded. "Pain worse, better?" 

He had to think for a moment. "Better," he finally said. "Different. More a soreness than a pain." 

Dean hummed in response, fingers still busy on Castiel's wing. 

Castiel had been tense at first, unused to anyone but his siblings and close friends touching his wings in anything more than passing. He settled gradually as Dean kept his touch light and careful. Before too long he could tell that Dean wasn't checking the injury anymore, but smoothing his ruffled feathers back where they belonged. He found himself sighing in relief as the irritation ebbed. 

By the time Dean was finished, his injured wing nearly felt better than the healthy one. Castiel battled with his pride for a minute before asking, "Could you fix the feathers of my other wing? Please." 

Dean huffed a light sound, almost a laugh but not quite. "Sure. Honestly, it was bugging me to leave 'em like that." He immediately set to work on the other wing, touch a little firmer than he used on the injured one. Castiel felt himself relaxing, nearly melting under Dean's hands. He was much better at this than he had any right to be, Castiel thought blearily, given how little practice he'd had.

"We should probably keep moving," Castiel said, once he'd recovered from whatever stupor the grooming had put him into. Dean was loathe to admit it, but he'd been damn cute, listing to one side with his eyes half-closed. If he'd been the one with cat tendencies, Dean was pretty sure he'd've been purring.

"Yep, not arguing with you there," he replied. "You still got our heading?" 

"Yes," Castiel said, "Right down the streambed, actually. Convenient." His tone said that he was suspicious of anything going that easily, and Dean had to agree. He was starting to regret not practicing some of the defensive magics Sam had been trying to show him - he'd feel better knowing he had something more than claws and fists to protect himself. 

As they started walking beside the stream, Castiel in the lead, Dean surreptitiously opened his palm over the ground. Earth magic had always been easiest for him, and it shouldn't be too hard to throw some rocks around. He focused on a small stone just out of the water's reach and thought, _up._

He jerked back with a curse, the stone whipping past his head and shooting high into the air. 

Castiel spun around, barked, "What was that?" His blade was ready in his hand, and Dean quickly made a calming motion. 

"Sorry, sorry," he said shakily. "Wow. That was me," he added, at Castiel's look of confusion. 

Castiel's brow wrinkled even more. "What did you _do_?" 

"I thought I'd practice some magic while we walked, tried throwing a rock up in the air, and it was like I'd shot off a firecracker - I don't even know where it ended up."

"Maybe you should keep the rock-throwing to a minimum." 

"Ha-fucking-ha. I wonder, is this gonna happen with all of my magic?" 

"Maybe you shouldn't - " Castiel started, too late. 

It took concentration, but Dean started a small flame flickering in the air over his palm. _"Sweet."_ He'd never admit it to Sam, but he'd been a little jealous of that trick. 

Castiel was still frowning at him. "What?" 

"You haven't been able to do that before?" 

"Nope." He closed his hand, letting the flame die. "That a problem?" 

"No," Castiel said slowly. He thought for a moment, then closed his eyes. In moments, a shoot sprouted from the ground in front of him, bloomed into a bright blue flower, then closed its vivid bloom and shrunk back into the ground. 

"Woah," Dean said without thinking. It was a beautiful piece of magic. 

"It doesn't appear to be affecting you alone, whatever it is," Castiel said. 

Dean shrugged. "Either way, not much we can do about it now. Keep going?" 

"Sure," Castiel returned. "Please take care not to knock me out if you choose to keep playing." 

"I would _never_ ," Dean said, hand over his heart in mock-outrage. Castiel rolled his eyes, turning back to the path.

The tall grass gradually thinned out as they went, soon leaving them in a wide and empty swathe of short green grass and wildflowers. Pretty as it was, Castiel was anxious to get under more cover. Thankfully, the travel was speedy, and they were left unbothered by anything more pesky than insects and the occasional wayward spell from Dean.

He had continued to practice as they walked, seemingly whatever charm he could think of. After the third small projectile had narrowly missed the back of his head - "Shit, sorry!" - Castiel elected to drop back and walk beside Dean, where he'd at least have a little warning. 

This way he could watch Dean's technique, as well. 

He realized he'd been staring too obviously when Dean cleared his throat loudly, looking at him with eyebrows raised. "There something you wanted?" he said. 

Castiel hadn't planned on asking, but since Dean had opened the topic so neatly - "I'm simply curious about your style of magic. I only know one other fae who does it that way." And Gabriel was a case all his own, really - certainly not one to use the chants, symbols, and herbs that most palace fae relied on, but that was the end of the similarities. 

"What way?" Dean frowned. 

"Hand motions alone, no incantation or other aids." 

"You guys need _aids_ to do magic?" he snorted loudly. " _Kids_ can do spells without any of that stuff." 

"Not _need_ ," Castiel replied, affronted, "but with them we can store spells for later, pool power, generally make things easier." 

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Like that spell your buddy tossed on us." 

"Samandriel, yes. It should have been a sleeping spell, but clearly that wasn't the case." 

"Clearly." 

They walked on in silence for a few minutes before Castiel spoke again. "Do you mind me asking - your magic, it wasn't this strong before now?" 

"Nope." 

"Have you ever tried healing magic?" Not many fae could properly perform it - it was tricky at best, disastrous when fumbled. But perhaps with Dean's newfound skill, his wing could at least be helped on the way to recovery, if not fixed outright. 

"Yeah, didn't I say? My mom's a healer, so I tried it. All kids wanna be their parents at some point, right?" 

If Castiel wasn't mistaken, Dean was blushing. Guessing it wouldn't be appreciated, he did his best to hide his smile. "Do you think you could heal my wing?" he ventured. 

"Don't think so." The answer was fast and clipped. 

Castiel sighed. "I'm not asking so I can fly off and leave you here." 

"Yeah, I'm sure." 

"I will swear to you, Dean, on anything you choose." Even with the splint, the jarring that walking caused sent sparks of pain through his bones. Besides that, being chained to the ground - even temporarily - felt confining, even in the breezy air of this prairie. He itched to spread his wings and take off. 

"Really, Castiel. It's not that - not only that, anyway," Dean admitted. "I haven't even tried a healing spell in years, and unless you guys've got some great incantation or whatever that you'd like to teach me, a lot could go wrong." 

"I understand," Castiel said. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shift to a comfortable position. Simply thinking of the hurt wing made it throb, and he grimaced. 

A gusty sigh came from his right. _"Fine_. Fine. I'm not promising anything, but I'll practice on flowers or something, okay?" 

Surprised, Castiel stopped. "Really?" 

Dean shook his head and smiled self-deprecatingly. "Yeah."

After hours of walking, the sun riding low on the horizon, Castiel frowned as he dragged his boot out of yet another soggy patch of grass. The farther they walked, the wetter the ground got, squelching unpleasantly with each step. Even worse, there was no sign of any shelter; hadn't been for miles. The back of his neck itched, feelings of exposure and vulnerability growing.

"Dean?" he said. The other fae only grunted in response, clearly as tired as Castiel was. "We need to stop. Find shelter." 

"You see any shelter, Castiel?" Dean said, voice tight. "I say we keep going. Maybe we'll find something. S'not like we can go back." 

"We can't navigate in the dark -" 

"Maybe you can't, but I can see just fine, thanks -" 

"Well, that'd be _fine_ if you were the one who knew the way!" 

"I'm not just gonna sit in this muck and wait for sunrise!" 

"Quiet." 

"Like _hell_ I'll be quiet, you're not in charge -" 

" _Dean_. Shut up. I hear something." 

They both fell silent, listening to the soft burbling of frogs, buzzing of insects, hush of wind. Then, a low, eerie howl. 

Eyes wide, Castiel turned to Dean - was it just his imagination?

"Fuck. Wolves." 

Not his imagination, then. "Maybe they haven't noticed us?" 

As if in mockery, the howl rose again, louder. Another, two more, returned the call, blending into a sinister harmony. 

"Run," Dean said urgently. "Run!" He grabbed Castiel's hand, pulling him along in the rapidly dimming twilight. Their breath sounded loud and frantic in his ears. Far too close, a howl sounded to their right. They veered off to the left in response, only for Castiel's breath to catch in a frightened gasp as another wolf called from that side. 

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean muttered between pants. Castiel wanted to tell him to save his breath, but he was too busy catching his own. 

Surprising them, their feet soon thudded onto drier ground. The relief was shattered quickly, though, when the first yellow flash of a wolf's eyes came from the darkness. In moments they were surrounded on all sides. 

The wolves' teeth were all too visible, shining long and sharp in their panting jaws. Castiel kept his grip on Dean's hand, perhaps squeezing too tight. If he was, so was Dean. 

One huge, dark-brown wolf, probably the alpha from the way the others shrunk away to make room for him, slunk from the shadows to stand in front of them. He growled, but did nothing else, just - stared. 

Then, with a shake of his head, a stretch of his long limbs, he shifted into human form, dark and muscled as the wolf had been. 

Dean and Castiel tensed. Animals couldn't be negotiated with, but fae were… unpredictable.

Castiel took a shaky breath. "We apologize if we've intruded on your land -" 

"Quiet, _palace fae_ ," the fae growled. Castiel shut up. "You will come with us." He motioned to two of the wolves behind him, who shifted quickly and stood. One a man, tall and burly, the other a slim and dark-haired woman, walked to stand at the leader's side. 

"Bind them," he told the two. Then, to Dean and Castiel, "If you struggle, my pack will attack. And you will die." 

Given little choice, Castiel stood quietly as the woman tied his hands behind his back with rough rope. Though he looked like he sorely wanted to, Dean let the man bind him without a fight. 

The wolf-fae marched them through the marsh quickly, thankfully keeping to high, drier ground. Before long they reached a small copse of trees. The two shifted fae sat them down against the two trees at the far edge, producing more ropes to tie them. Wing pressed back against the trunk, Castiel tried not to flinch. He guessed that as far as showing fear went, these fae should be thought of as wolves - and for wolves, fear meant weakness, and the weak were prey. 

The pain sparked across his nerves, though, scattering his concentration. He feared the results if he made any attempt to use magic. He might have to chance it anyway. 

The leader came to stand in front of them, towering over them in their seated positions. "What are you doing here?" he barked. When Castiel opened his mouth to explain, he was quickly silenced with a heated glare. "Not you, guard. We don't trust the word of royal panderers here, do we?" A loud chorus of growls and barks answered him, and Castiel flinched instinctively. 

With a fearful glance at Castiel, Dean spoke. "We don't want trouble." 

The fae laughed hollowly. "I'm not so sure I trust you either. You're not dressed like palace fae, but you're with one." 

Castiel felt more and more hopeless. This fae clearly had some vendetta against the royalty, though what the palace could have done to him when he was so far removed from it baffled him. And while they hadn't been treated with undue violence yet, the tension in the air was palpable. He didn't see how he could come out of this safely. 

But Dean - Dean was not from the palace. Perhaps this could work to their advantage. 

"He's with me because he's a criminal, and I am tasked with taking him to the palace to be charged." The look Dean shot him was confused, then incredulous. Castiel ignored him, staring down the leader instead. 

The leader betrayed nothing, but Castiel prayed he believed it. He himself couldn't think of another reason a palace guard and a commoner would travel together, and it was nearly true. The fae stalked closer, still keeping eye contact. "Really," he said, voice flat. "And do prisoners often hold hands with their captors?" His fist flew toward Castiel's face before he could react, whipping his head to the side with the impact. He heard an indistinct noise of shock from Dean through the ringing in his ears. 

"See, I don't think your little tale is true," he said. "I think you’re here to finish what you started years ago.” 

Dean shot a confused look at Castiel, who shook his head, giving a tiny shrug. 

Castiel chanced speaking. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” 

A growl ripped from deep within the fae’s throat, and his face twisted in some emotion - pain? Anger? “Don’t know. Ha. Might even be telling the truth, you’re hardly more than a child. Ignorant royals, never paying any regard to anyone but yourselves.” 

He’d started up a restless pacing, each pass in front of them ratcheting the tension up a notch higher. Castiel caught a worried glance between the two shifted wolves, the man reaching to clasp the woman’s hand tight. Their own chances weren’t good if even this fae’s followers feared him. 

Castiel abruptly found his head yanked up by the hair, pain shooting through his scalp. He whined through his teeth, helpless to stop the noise. “Paying attention now, though, aren’t you? Now that you’re not up on your high-and-mighty mountain.” 

“I’ve done nothing to you,” Castiel said desperately. 

The fae’s eyes flicked over his face from inches away. “But your family did. Your family,” he spat the word out like a curse, “destroyed mine. And now you’ve come to finish the job, haven’t you. Take the family I have now,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to the pack.

“Well, I won’t let you,” the fae said, voice chillingly empty. He raised a fist, this time slow and deliberate. He wanted Castiel to see it coming. 

A sudden noise erupted from the darkness of the swamp, and they all snapped their heads to look at once. An irregular splashing, Castiel couldn’t tell what could possibly be making the sound. The leader’s eyes flicked from the edge of the clearing to Castiel, back and forth, conflicted. 

Finally, with a sharp growl of irritation, he got to his feet. “Lenore, Benny, Andrea, stay with the prisoners,” he ordered. “The rest of you, with me.” He shifted as he dropped to all fours, letting out a howl as he charged out into the swamp. The rest of the wolf-fae followed, save the two who were still in human form and one wolf the color of dark cocoa. 

They sat in silence for a few tense minutes. Castiel shifted, attempting to take some of the pressure off his injured wing, only to freeze when the three wolves’ eyes all snapped to him. He glanced over at Dean, suddenly noticing how pale his face had gone, sheen of sweat making him look sickly. 

“Dean?” he whispered urgently. The wolves could probably still hear him, but it felt wrong to speak normally. “Are you well?” 

Dean nodded shakily. “All good here,” he said, but his voice was oddly hazy. 

Worried, Castiel automatically glanced to the other fae present, hostile as they were. They didn’t seem to be paying attention, however - the fae in wolf form had shifted into a woman with dark hair and pale skin, and they spoke with heads bowed close together. Occasionally their eyes flicked over to where Dean and Castiel sat. 

The wolf-fae turned as one, walking with purpose toward them. Castiel tensed and straightened as much as he could, sparing a glance to Dean, who still looked ill. 

The man - Benny, Castiel assumed - circled around behind them, and Castiel squirmed, back of his neck prickling. 

The paler woman dropped to a crouch in front of him. “Stay calm,” she said, voice steady. “I’m Lenore, this is Andrea, her partner Benny,” Lenore motioned behind Castiel, where - his bonds fell loose? 

“We’re letting you go,” Andrea said, shooting a look at Lenore. “Despite our better judgement.” 

“It’s the right thing to do and you know it,” Lenore said, not unkindly. 

Castiel staggered to his feet, suppressing a groan as his wing throbbed at the motion. He helped Dean to his feet when Benny released him too, each leaning on the other for support. “Why would you help us?” Castiel asked. 

Benny sighed. “We’ve had a rough time of it out here. Used to be better, but a plague came through a few years ago.” The wolf-fae’s faces all went dark with old pain. “Magical. No way for us to stop it. We tried sending some people to the palace, to get help - they were turned away.” 

“Gordon was a wonderful leader before,” Andrea spoke up. “But - his sister died. He’d only had her for decades before this happened, and it… he was never the same.” 

“I swear to you,” Castiel said, “I knew nothing of this. I can’t believe we didn’t help.” He felt unsteady, from more than the physical pain. 

“We know,” Lenore said. “Think we’d be helping you escape if we didn’t think so?” She smiled humorlessly. 

“Speaking of…” Benny hinted. 

“Right, you should be gone already,” Lenore said. “Don’t worry for us; Gordon would never hurt one of his own.” 

“Go on, brothers,” Benny told them. “Due north for a ways, then head west. It’ll take you through some streams, help block the scent.” Castiel nodded and turned to go, but Dean sagged, knees buckling under him. 

“Dean!” Castiel said, voice frantic. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

“So that noise in the woods may have been me,” Dean grits out. “May have overextended myself a bit.” 

"Idiot," Castiel muttered, hitching Dean’s arm over his shoulders to support him better. One of the only things palace fae died of anymore, besides old age, was overuse of magic - too much too fast, and it pulled at a fae’s life energy instead of the natural world’s. “Can you walk at all?” Castiel glanced around as if he’d be able to detect Gordon’s return in such utter black. 

“A bit, I think,” Dean says. “We gotta go anyway, right?” He smiled through a grimace. 

“Good luck,” Andrea said. 

“Remember what we did for you,” Lenore said. “Make sure what happened to us never happens again.”

Castiel nodded, and turned with Dean to disappear into the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean remembered little of their flight through the remainder of the swamp. It was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and not fall flat on his face through every patch of soggy ground. He only recalled the sheer relief at finally emerging into low scrubland that quickly became the familiar, lush forest of home before everything was darkness. 

He stirred in the morning, sprawled out on the ground with one of Castiel's wings arched over him. They were tucked into the shadow of a broad-leaved tree, but that seemed to have been all the shelter Castiel had managed before they'd both collapsed. Dean squirmed out from under Castiel's wing, trying not to disturb him, grimacing at the crackle of dried mud that broke off in pieces as he moved. They'd definitely need to find water of some kind to wash off. 

Shaking Castiel's shoulder gently, Dean woke him. "Sorry," he said, as Castiel began to stir. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I figured we should get as much distance as we can." 

Castiel groaned as he sat up, wings twitching wildly. "No, I - I understand," he said through a grimace. 

"Aw, shit," Dean said. The makeshift splint hadn't made it through their haphazard dash. "You stay there, I'll get a stick and see if I can find some vines or something." 

"Dean, you're in no condition to -" Castiel said, before breaking off and squinting at him. "How do you feel?" he asked carefully. 

"I feel - good," Dean said slowly. "I shouldn't feel this good." 

Castiel shook his head. "No, you shouldn't." 

Dean should still be passed out in a puddle of his own drool, after what he'd pulled. Not that he regretted it - Gordon was not going to be reasoned with, and it was the only way out he'd seen. 

"Can you perform any magic?" Castiel asked. "Not anything big," he clarified quickly. 

"Believe me, I'm not doing anything big for at least a month after that experience," Dean muttered, but raised a palm to a twig on the ground. He gave it a mental push, and - nothing. Shit. "Guess I'm tapped for now." 

"I'm not surprised," Castiel said. "Here, help me up. I can walk, we'll just have to go slow." The look in his eyes said 'I'm not letting you wander off alone' as clearly as if he'd yelled it, so Dean grabbed his uplifted forearm and tugged him to his feet. He kept a hand on his arm to steady Castiel, seeing him sway, off-balance, whenever his wing spasmed, and they walked that way until they reached an young oak, branches slim and strong. 

"That'll work for a splint," Dean said, and snapped one of the branches with a quick flick of his wrist. 

It fell to the soft ground with a muted thump, audible in the shocked silence between them. 

"The fuck just happened," Dean said, eloquent as always. Castiel shook his head, wide-eyed, and shrugged helplessly. He let go of Castiel's arm and went to fetch the stick, peering down at it as if it would tell him what was going on. 

Dean raised a palm to a leaf on the ground and pushed again. He set it trembling, but nothing more, and he frowned. Castiel took a sharp breath, and staggered over to Dean. 

"What?" 

Castiel carefully laid a hand on his forearm, and Dean looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Try it again," Castiel urged. Dean rolled his eyes, but thought of pushing the leaf - which spiraled into the air before he'd even raised his hand. 

"What the hell," Dean barked, jumping back. His elbow jarred painfully against the trunk of the tree, but he ignored it. "What did you do?" 

Castiel's eyes followed the leaf, slowly flipping through the air to rest between them. "Nothing," he said absently. 

"Clearly you did something!" 

"I don't think something like this has happened for a long while," Castiel said quietly, brows drawn inward as he stared into space. 

Dean took a deep breath, trying to quiet down as he remembered their proximity to the wolf fae. "What do you think is happening?" he said, voice carefully flat. 

"It's - a bond," Castiel said, words slow and careful. 

"So, what, I can't do magic anymore unless you're touching me?" Dean said, frantic. 

"No, no," Castiel assured. "But together, the pair is stronger, both their magics amplified, than when they're apart. There are some ancient writings - even the names have been lost - that described such a bond. We all assumed such a thing couldn't happen anymore." 

"So it's only because I'm so drained that I can't do magic on my own right now?" Dean asked. Castiel shrugged. 

"I would assume so, but I really don't know." 

"How long until I get it back?" 

"Dean, I don't _know._ This hasn't happened for millennia, by our record." There was a note of awe in Castiel's voice. "We'll have to figure it out as we go."

They agreed that, for now anyway, it was best not to interfere with their bond, if that was what it was. After throwing together another splint - “You’re gonna have no tunic left by the end of this,” Dean had said wryly - they went on their way, the twists and turns of the forest familiar enough that they could navigate easily.

A strange glimmer broke through the trees. Both noticed it at the same instant, glancing at one another for confirmation before moving toward the source. 

Dean heard a cry. It sounded so familiar – Sam! The kind of desperate call he’d only heard once before, when he’d broken his leg falling from a tree when he was ten and exploring alone, too far from home to struggle back. Dean charged toward the sound.

Castiel was a step behind, and saw and heard only Dean charging off with a yell of “Sammy!” He gave chase, wing jarring painfully with each hard footfall. He caught up to Dean just as he burst into a clearing, lush and green. In the center was a clear blue pool, water nearly transparent. The bottom gleamed, a bright white reflecting the sun’s rays back. Castiel paused, shocked, but Dean still ran forward, charging straight for the pool. 

Castiel sprinted after Dean again, pushing his exhausted muscles to their limit. He caught one sleeve just as Dean’s feet hit the water, immediately plunging him down, far deeper than he’d thought the pool could be. Though Castiel’s grip was all that kept him above the water, he struggled and kicked out against it. “Dean!” Castiel yelled, frantic. He knew his hold couldn’t last much longer, even as he pulled with both arms, digging his heels into the soft earth. His eyes struggled with the bright shine at the bottom of the pool, odd shapes for rocks, really - until he realized they were bones, polished clean and bleached white.

Taking a chance, Castiel took the other tack, tackling Dean bodily. He crushed his face into Dean’s neck, trying to plaster his arms against Dean’s, get as much skin-to-skin contact in hopes that this bond they’d discovered could break through whatever enchantment this pool carried. Castiel gasped in a frantic breath as they sank despite his frantic kicking to keep them afloat, praying that Dean would snap out of it, please just come back - and then the struggles stopped, both of them coughing sickly-sweet water as they surfaced. 

“Cas?” he asked blearily, squinting through the water running down his face. 

Castiel nodded. “Are you with me?” 

Dean’s response was slow. “Yeah.” 

Castiel helped him out of the pool, each leaning on the other as they staggered from the clearing. They walked as far as they could in silence before they both dropped to a soft patch of grass. Castiel sighed in resignation at the restless twitching of his wing, seeing the replacement splint floating in pieces in the pool. He’d definitely worsened the sprain with that move, but he couldn’t regret it. 

“Who is ‘Sammy’?” Castiel asked quietly. 

Dean winced. “I said something?” 

“Just the name.” 

Dean sighed heavily, head rolling back against the tree he leaned against. After a long, tense moment, he said, “He’s my brother. Sam.”

Castiel waited in silence for Dean to continue, sure there was more to the story. 

“He’s why I’m going to the palace. Why I need to get in. He’s been – taken.” 

“Taken to the castle? How do you know?” 

“Guard uniform’s pretty distinctive.” Dean’s voice was hollow. “Not sure how I’m gonna pull it off, though,” he said, chuckling humorlessly. “Now that I know what you guys can do.” 

“I’ll help you.” Castiel didn’t know where the words had come from, bubbling up from his throat without his permission. He meant it though, he thought with no small amount of surprise. 

Dean seemed equally shocked. “You’ll what?” 

“I’ll help. I know the palace, and I know our orders.” Castiel looked Dean square in the eyes. “No matter what else we’ve done – or, what we’ve failed to do – this is not something the King Michael I know would condone.” 

Dean frowned for a moment before he caught Castiel’s meaning. “You think there’s a traitor? Someone acting against Michael?” 

“I do.” How else could he explain their current situation? Only someone within the palace could sabotage a spell sachet like that, to make it fling them to the farthest corners of the kingdom. 

Dean sat back with a thump, eyes wide. “This is way bigger than I thought.” 

Castiel could only nod.

They continued on their way after a bout of first aid – Dean splinting Castiel’s wing yet again, this time sacrificing his own shirt, despite Castiel’s protests.

For the first time in days, Castiel felt safe enough to relax as they walked. This forest was where Castiel spent most of his days, and he knew its old oaks, its flighty squirrels, its deer that left only hoofprints and winding trails to show they’d been there. 

It was almost anticlimactic to settle down to rest that night, finding a grassy hollow to bed down in. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Dean said, motioning Castiel over. “I want to try something.” Castiel sat at his side, looking curiously to the handful of flowers he’d picked. Dean held out his hand expectantly. 

“What?” Castiel said. 

“Hold it, dumbass.” 

“There’s no need to be rude,” Castiel said primly, folding his fingers around Dean’s. “What are you trying to do?” 

“Healing spell,” Dean said shortly. “Now shh, I need to concentrate.” He took a daisy from the bundle and set it on the grass between his knees. Laying a gentle hand on the stem, he closed his eyes. Castiel couldn’t feel anything but the warm pressure of Dean’s hand, the space between their palms growing damp with sweat after a few minutes. Castiel stared into the darkness, watching the restless dance of fireflies flickering among the trees. 

“Dude!” Dean yelled, making Castiel jump, injured wing tugging at its confines. Castiel looked around in confusion before squinting down at the daisy, which was now firmly rooted in the ground, and a good inch taller. His eyes widened. 

“Do not tell me you missed that,” Dean said, exasperated. 

“... It was taking an awfully long time,” Castiel said apologetically. 

Dean huffed. “Well then, you try and fix the fucking flower next time.” 

Castiel squirmed and Dean sulked, their hands still tightly clasped. 

“Do you want me to try your wing,” Dean finally grumbled. 

“Please,” Castiel said gratefully. 

It took some doing to arrange them properly - they had a small debate over whether Dean’s hand on Castiel’s wing would be enough contact for the bond. Castiel thought more was better, based on their experience with the pool, but Dean argued that one hand had been enough for the flower. 

They settled facing one another, legs crossed, Dean stretching an arm over Castiel’s shoulder to reach his wing, letting their knees and arms brush. 

“All right,” Dean said, chuckling awkwardly. His eyes were bright and huge from this close, freckles standing out clearly even in the dimming light. “I guess - I’ll just go for it. Don’t stop me unless you think I’m gonna pass out or something, okay?” 

Castiel nodded his assent, but Dean’s eyes had already slipped closed in concentration. He waited, trying to keep still. His wing still jerked under Dean’s hand, strained muscles out of his control. To keep himself awake, he tried to find constellations in Dean’s freckles, so many of them that he could make nearly any pattern he thought of appear. 

He almost didn’t notice the warmth growing in his wing, a soft creeping feeling like he was inching closer to a fire. It relaxed the clench of his muscles, the gentle burn skating up his bones light as a feather. Dean blinked, and the warmth slowly died. 

“How’s that?” Dean asked, a slight slur to the words. His eyes were a little droopy, and Castiel lifted a hand to his face to get him to focus. With a slight shake of his head, Dean did. 

Satisfied that Dean was fine, Castiel carefully stretched his wing. “It’s not all the way,” he said slowly, “But it’s much better.” The muscles had ceased their restless twitching, which was really all Castiel needed for now. “Thank you, Dean,” he said. 

If he hadn’t been so close, he may have missed the light flush that painted Dean’s cheeks. “S’nothing, Cas,” he said. “Let’s get to sleep, yeah?” 

Wordlessly, they curled up together, Castiel snug against Dean’s back, good wing arched over him. They slept.

They set off early the next morning, Dean feeling rejuvenated, as if he’d somehow healed himself as well as Cas. Castiel looked much better too; he’d probably slept better without his wing paining him so badly.

Dean couldn’t stand to walk in silence, even companionable. “Hey Cas,” he said with a grin. “Ever played Twenty Questions?” Honestly, Truth or Dare would’ve been more to his liking, but that would have to wait for when possible death-defying scenarios wouldn’t be so detrimental to their goal. Castiel didn’t seem to understand the point of the game, but he played along for a few hours at least. 

After a heated argument about whether a gargoyle constituted a mineral or a living thing that effectively ended the game, Castiel announced that they were nearing the kingdom proper. 

“We need to talk strategy,” he continued. “We can’t just walk into the palace.” 

“No shit,” Dean said. “That’s what you guys are for, right?” 

“No, I mean you literally cannot walk into the palace.” 

“…You’re gonna have to explain that one, buddy.” 

Castiel huffed, finding a patch of dry dirt and a stick and motioning Dean over. “Here’s the palace,” he said, sketching a rectangle with some vaguely triangular additions. Dean raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to continue. 

“The palace itself rests on a tall hill – nearly a mountain.” He drew in a sharply curved line underneath the palace. “There are numerous springs underneath the palace, hot and cold, and they all collect and form waterfalls down the sides.” Wavy lines on the picture. “Even though the hill itself is scalable, the falls make it incredibly dangerous to climb – and we’d be spotted the moment we tried.” 

Dean squinted down at the drawing. “I’d say it’d be just the kind of asshole move the royals would make, building a palace only they could get to, but – not all of you fly, right? There’s gotta be another way in.” 

Castiel nodded. “There is.” 

“So…? Where is it?” 

“Multiple staircases and ladder systems were constructed to let non-flying fae get to the palace.” Castiel grimaced. “However, all but one were demolished a century ago.” 

“Which one? No, wait lemme guess. The main one.” 

“Yes.” 

“Shit.” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me we have other options.” 

“The two best options I can see,” Castiel shook his head, “are still not good. We can walk in the way you did and hope that the guard that apprehends us is one of my friends, or at least sympathetic.”

“And risk running right into the kidnapper or their accomplice.” 

“Right.” 

“The other option?” Dean really hoped that Castiel had the ‘best for last’ approach going here and not ‘last resort’. None of their options were looking good. 

“I have a – cousin. Gabriel. He enjoys playing pranks.” 

“Yeah, so?” 

“He manages to be everywhere at once, it seems, though we’re all mostly certain he hasn’t discovered true teleportation. Yet.” Castiel’s tone indicated that when that day came they’d all fear for their sanity. Possibly their lives.

“So how do you think he does it?” Dean asked. 

“There was a rumor that he’d found a tunnel system – not anywhere on the plans, but a fabled one that would let its user travel within, and out of, the palace.” 

“You think it’s true.” 

“I hope it is, since it would be our best option.” 

“A mythical tunnel system that no one’s got any actual evidence of is our best option. Great.”

Dean and Castiel debated their plan (in between rejuvenating games of Twenty Questions, now with the addendum that anything magical in nature was off-limits) as they walked. No other plan they could come up with had a better chance of success than searching the only nearby cave system Castiel knew of for a way in. After all, if they failed they could always look for a friendly guard to help them in.

Arriving at the caves, they searched the damp darkness for hours. They agreed that sticking together was the only way to go – their chances of finding a way in would go down, but their chances of losing one another in the winding tunnels were far worse. 

After they’d been ready to give it up for the day, a voice came from behind them. Gabriel, Castiel thought, a mix of relief and the usual trepidation. “What’re you kids doing down here?” he asked, smirking. “Could get lost.” 

Castiel quickly explained their situation, Gabriel’s easy humor slipping away with each revelation. “You sure country-boy’s right?” he asked once Castiel had finished. He ignored Dean’s affronted, “hey!”

Castiel didn’t break eye contact with Gabriel. “I trust him.” The fae’s eyebrows went up fast, but he didn’t argue any more. 

“Come with me, kids. No time to lose.” 

They followed Gabriel’s lead to a seemingly solid wall of rock, which he quickly led them through. “Just an illusion,” he chirped, the bright feathers on his wings – yellow, green, and blue – easy to follow in the darkness as he led them on. More than once, though, Gabriel failed to warn them about protruding rocks and sharp drops in the floor, leading to some fairly creative cursing from Dean. 

They emerged in a spacious room in the palace, paint and fabrics a rainbow of color. “My humble abode,” Gabriel announced with a sweep of his arm. “Before we do anything else, we need to get you two cleaned up just a little.” He swept to the door, peeking out for a moment before brightening visibly. “Perfect! Jess, darling, could you spare a minute?” He ushered a fae through the door, closing it quickly behind her bright-gold wings. Jess started in surprise when she saw them. 

“Right, introductions! Jessica, meet Dean. You know Castiel, I’m sure. Dean, Jessica.” 

“Gabriel, what’s going on?” Jess said, crossing her arms and cocking a brow. Apparently this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“Later, later,” Gabriel hushed. At her look he assured, more seriously, “Honestly. You’ll know.” 

She seemed to accept it at that. “What can I do?” 

“Clothes for the boys – nice ones so they don’t stand out. Water and some rags to scrub ‘em down a little. Please?” he tacked on a moment after the fact, making her grin. Castiel had to be impressed. Somehow she’d succeeded in teaching Gabriel manners. Amazing, really. 

“Can do. You all wait here,” she said, turning and walking briskly from the room. Dean and Castiel stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor, not quite sure what they were supposed to do, but feeling like they should be doing _something._ It was hard to just stop after weeks of nothing but movement. 

“Castiel, my adorable little cousin –“ 

“I’m only three years younger than you.” 

“- it looks like you’ve done something terrible to that wing. Want my help, _little cousin?_ ” Gabriel’s eyes dared him to contest the diminutive. 

Castiel took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “Yes, I would, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel grinned. “Okay then!” He skipped over behind Castiel, and the urge to scramble away was nearly overpowering. 

“Hmm.” 

“What?” Dean asked. Castiel twisted his neck to see Gabriel cocking his head at the wing, an odd look on his face. 

“Is this your work?” Gabriel asked. He didn’t look up from Castiel’s wing, so it took Dean a moment to realize who he was addressing. 

“Uh, the splint? Yeah.”

“Sure, yes, that too. I meant the magic. You’ve done a moderately passable job. First time healing?” he asked casually. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied slowly. Gabriel said nothing else, though. 

With a bright flash of yellow-white light and a loud snap, Gabriel healed the wing. “All set,” he said cheerfully. “Country-boy should probably take off the splint so I don’t break anything important.” 

Thankfully for all their sake’s, Jessica walked back in, bag of clothing slung over her shoulder and a water bucket and rag in her hands. “I take it you boys can dress yourselves?” she said, not waiting for an answer before moving for the door. “You’ll tell me what’s going on later, but I do actually have a job to do,” she said to Gabriel before ducking out. 

“Such a wonderfully charming girl,” Gabriel said fondly. Then, to Dean and Castiel, “What are you waiting for? We haven’t got all day!” He went for a door at the other end of the room. “Back in a bit, you two be ready.” 

Both Dean and Castiel were silent for a moment after he’d left. 

“Well,” Dean said, finally. “That was not what I was expecting.” 

They worked quickly to strip off their dirty, ragged outer layers, changing into the cream-colored tunics and pants Jessica had brought. 

“There must be an event happening,” Castiel said. “A formal address, or a ball. There’s no other reason to wear clothing this extravagant.” Each piece sparkled with metallic embroidery, little jewels dotting the sleeves and collars. The way Dean tugged at the collar showed how little he cared for it. 

They had time to spare before Gabriel returned, Castiel stretching his wing after weeks of immobility, groaning as the muscles worked themselves out. Dean just paced, looking caged. 

When Gabriel returned, Dean immediately asked if he knew where Sam was. Gabriel was cryptic as usual, but assured them that’s where they were heading. They walked down the halls, much slower than Dean would have preferred, judging by the tightness of his jaw and the stony cast to his eyes. Finally they arrived at the expansive grand hall, open to the sky. 

Inside was the entire population of the palace, with Michael and his brothers – Lucifer, Raphael, and an empty seat for Gabriel – seated at the head of the room. 

"Michael's announcing a new policy today, apparently," Gabriel whispered to them. "New instructions from the Father, or maybe a new implementation of old ones?" His voice had an uncharacteristic note of frustration in it. "He's been oddly cryptic about the whole thing. Just that Lucifer would be helping somehow." 

Castiel made a noise of surprise, and Dean turned to him questioningly. "Lucifer's been somewhat outspoken with his dissatisfaction with Michael's policies before, and they both decided it'd be best for him to step back for a while," Castiel whispered. 

A hush fell over the room. Michael stood at the front, arms outstretched to catch the crowd's attention. Gabriel slipped from their sides to take his seat at the front, getting a glare from Raphael for his tardiness.

"Dearest family and friends," he started, voice booming over the crowd, amplified by spells in the hall's walls. "We have accomplished much together, within and without the walls of this palace. We have mastered our magics and spells. We have cured nearly all ills that plagued us. Most importantly, the bonds we have formed among our number have never been stronger nor more valuable.

"However, there is still much to be done. We have bettered ourselves, certainly. Now I say, now the Father says: it is time to better the lives of others. Of our brothers and sisters outside these walls." A rumble of noise built slowly, sounds of surprise passing through the crowd. Castiel's first instinct was joy, but he had a creeping sense that this was far too good to be true. He cast a glance to Dean, who returned it grimly. He doubted as well. 

"How will we do this, you may ask?" Michael said, carrying over the ambient noise of the crowd. "Our greatest strength is in our magic, and I propose we spread this knowledge, to all corners of our kingdom. Lucifer, continue." Michael seated himself gracefully, sweeping his long cape to the side. Lucifer stood and walked forward, as poised and elegant as his brother. 

“I have already begun to implement His Majesty’s plan,” Lucifer said smoothly. “Young, promising mages were found in nearby communities and brought here to be trained in our magics.” Dean stiffened, and Castiel laid a hand on his arm to quiet him. Lucifer flicked his wrist, and a side door opened, an orderly line of young fae filing in. 

Without taking his eyes off the action Castiel snatched Dean’s wrist, tugging him back. “Wait. Watch,” he said urgently. Dean’s eyes flicked restlessly from the line of fae, now forming a semicircle facing the front dias, to Castiel’s hand on his arm. He jerked against the hold, and Castiel half-acquiesced, letting them slowly edge closer through the crowd. 

“They have learned much already,” Lucifer said, eyes intent on the fae arranged in front of him. “And now, they will show you what they can do.” 

On cue, the young fae began to chant, eerily perfect in their synchronization. 

Dean tugged at Castiel’s arm, hard. “There’s something wrong,” he said, eyes frantic. “Something wrong with Sam. His eyes!” Castiel squinted towards the front, glad of his height, and inhaled sharply when he saw. 

All the mages’ eyes were an ominous black. A sphere of energy was gathering in front of them, dead center – directly in front of Michael. Swirling black, with flashes of red and gold, it grew. 

Castiel whirled to look at Dean. “It’s like the spell that hit us. But bigger, much bigger.” Neither had to say what that meant about its capabilities. They immediately began shoving through the crowd, hands joined to keep them together. 

They hit a wall of guards at the edge of the crowd, mere feet from their goal. Struggling against their holds, Dean yelled, “Sam!” 

One of the fae, tall and long-haired, faltered in the chant for a moment, eyes flickering black, hazel, black again. 

Emboldened, Dean kept yelling. “Sam! Come on, Sam, snap out of it, you don’t wanna do this, _Sammy!”_ At the last word, a shock of magic, zigzagging like lightning, exploded from their still-joined hands. It hit Sam dead in the chest, sending him staggering back from the semicircle.

“Dean?” he said, swaying on the spot. 

“Sam! We’re gonna get you out of here, we’ll get you –” a punch across his face, unexpected, cut him off. A fistfight ensued, guards against Dean and Castiel, then some guards against guards. Magic sparked angrily, arcing through the air, landing with far harsher results than a simple punch. As wayward spells careened into any still-chanting mages they stumbled out of the trance, looking around, confused. Sam managed to find Dean and Castiel in the melee, clearing the way with streams of sparks from his fingers. 

“Stop at once!” Michael’s voice, laced with anger, was a sonic boom crashing over them all. The quiet that fell was all the more ominous for the dark sphere of energy that still swirled in place, the only movement in the room. 

“What is going on?” Michael demanded. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Castiel hurriedly wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, smearing it against the creamy sleeve of his tunic. “I bring charges of treason against Lucifer,” he said loudly, before he could lose his nerve. All eyes snapped to him. 

“Explain,” Michael said, voice dark and eyes burning. 

“I was on routine patrol about a fortnight ago when I came across Dean. I attempted to apprehend him, and was fighting him when Samandriel assisted by throwing what we thought was a knockout spell. It hit both Dean and I. Rather than sleeping, we were transported to the far edge of the kingdom.” 

“What has this to do with me?” Lucifer said, tone lazy. “I have no responsibility for the guards’ magic.” 

“Hush, brother, we must hear him out,” Michael said, and Lucifer quieted, glaring at Castiel. 

“The spell in question looked almost exactly like that one,” Castiel said, indicating the rapidly swirling orb. “The only difference is that this one is considerably larger.” Michael frowned, more in confusion than anger this time. 

“And I am here against my will,” Sam said loudly. “I was abducted, hypnotized somehow, forced to do this!” The other fae shouted their agreement, anger and betrayal written on their faces. 

“Of course they’d say that,” Lucifer said quickly, as Michael turned to look at him, cocking his head in question. 

“Brother,” Michael said quietly. “Tell me the truth.” 

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply, and hesitated. Michael’s face froze. 

“Guards, bind him,” Michael said, voice hollow. Lucifer’s expression twisted, and the first line of guards to approach were blasted backwards on a wave of blue flame. The ensuing surge of guards nearly carried Castiel forward with it, but he struggled against the flow, searching desperately for Dean. He broke through and found him and his brother, and Dean reached for him as Castiel did the same. 

Spinning to face the front of the room, hands clasped tight, they each raised their free palm. A squeeze of their joined hands, and another snap of that lightning-like magic flew from each of their palms, merged, and arced into Lucifer’s chest. 

He swayed at the impact, teetering at the edge of the dais. He began to fall, Michael reaching after him but missing, and Lucifer tumbled into the sphere. In a blinding flash of light, he and it vanished without leaving a trace.

Lucifer’s plan was revealed in full later, after his guard had been interrogated. They assured that the spell wasn’t deadly – a powerful translocation spell, but Lucifer didn’t want to kill Michael, only depose him long enough – and in such a way – to ensure that no palace fae would condone the end of isolationism. No, they didn’t know how far it sent Lucifer. No, they didn’t know if he’d ever return. 

Dean and Sam began their travel home within a few hours.

Dean woke before the sun hit his face. That happened a lot these days. The routine of waking before dawn, to be ready to travel once the sun broke over the horizon, was hard to break. He was up before Sam most of the time, now.

He snagged a cold chunk of bread from yesterday’s loaf on his way out. 

Walking in the woods, off the well-worn path, seemed to be the only thing that calmed him now. He missed that exploratory feeling, the simple pleasure of muscles working for hours. A simple goal, simple tasks along the way to accomplish it. Simple companionship. 

He shut the thought down fast. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do, and more – Michael had promised that he’d go ahead with his original plan, regardless of the ‘incident’ as he’d so tactfully called it. Specially trained mages and healers would be travelling through the kingdom before too long, teaching and mending as they went. 

Dean scuffed a foot through the leaf litter. The sun was over the horizon. He needed to turn back if he didn’t want to make everyone worry. 

Sam met him just as he was emerging from the woods, huge grin on his face. Morning people, Dean would just never understand. “Dean! I was just gonna come get you. We’ve got a visitor.” 

“’Morning. Wait. Who?” 

“You’ll see,” Sam said, with the look on his face that said _I have a secret and I can’t_ wait _to see your face when you figure it out._

They walked side-by-side back to the house, but when they reached the door Sam leaped in front to get through the door first. “We’re here!” Sam announced. Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, walking in amidst the usual clatter and bustle of a morning in the Winchester home. 

Only to see Castiel standing wide-eyed in the corner, wings twitching nervously behind him. “Cas?” he blurted unthinkingly. 

Castiel’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “Hello, Dean.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

Mary slapped him lightly upside the head, and Dean jumped. He’d nearly forgotten they weren’t alone. “Be polite,” she chided, moving past him to rescue the eggs from John. 

“It’s okay,” Castiel said. “I’m here to teach magic.” 

“Really? So you’re staying for a while?” Dean wanted to slap himself upside the head now. Way to sound needy. 

But Castiel was smiling. “Yes. As long as there are still fae to be taught here.” 

Dean could feel himself relaxing, feeling more like himself than he’d felt in weeks. “You sure you’re up for that?” 

“I’m willing to accept the challenge.” They smiled at each other from across the room, and then breakfast was ready. 

Sam, the wonderful little shit, made sure to shove the extra chair right in next to Dean’s.

With full bellies, Dean led Castiel out to the woods. It felt exactly right, now, to pace these paths with Castiel at his side, even without speaking. His hand ached to reach out and fold around Castiel's, to make this picture complete, but he stopped himself, unsure.

"So, you're really staying here," he said wonderingly. He couldn't seem to wrap his head around the idea. 

"Yes, Dean, I'm staying," Cas replied, smile in his voice and his eyes. "I had actually wondered… could I ask a favor?" 

"Sure, Cas, anything." 

"I don't have anywhere to sleep for the night, and if it would be an imposition I'm sure I could find the nearest inn," Cas tripped over the words, uncharacteristically blundering, "but if it's not a problem - could I say here?" 

"No! I mean, no, it's not a problem at all," Dean said, grinning widely. "Opposite of a problem." 

Castiel sighed in relief. His wings flicked, casting off tension like it was water. "Thank you. I had hoped, but I wasn't sure of my welcome." 

Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. "You're always welcome here." He smoothed his hand down Cas' arm, reassuring, hesitating a moment longer before stepping closer and stroking a wing. Cas took a sharp breath, but pushed his wing into the touch, feathers warm and sleek under his fingers. 

It's perfectly natural, then, to duck his head and press his lips to Cas', to bring his other hand up to his cheek. Cas' wings flared, Dean's hand slipping to bury in the soft down at the base, as Cas pressed into the kiss. 

Around them their magic ran riot, flowers exploding into bloom, petals swirled in a breeze of their making. They didn't notice.


End file.
